


Way Back

by deathbyhumidity



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memory Loss, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbyhumidity/pseuds/deathbyhumidity
Summary: There was nothing from before the time he first opened his eyes weeks, months, years ago in this place, and nothing now but the trees and the mountains, the sea and the sky. The man was content to let the questions beyond and within to remain mysteries, and all he knew was the tranquility of his days spent tending the grounds of the temple and reciting the Litany of the Fallen.That, and the way his heart beat for the sullen woman that was his sole companion in this forsaken paradise.





	1. Chapter 1

*******

With a last shake of his stick broom, the man watched as a shower of leaves and dirt fell into the waiting pile. He paused from his labor long enough to cast his gaze over the area he’d just cleaned, his sigh both one of satisfaction and acknowledgement that the fruits of his efforts only ever lasted until the next day, when the temple grounds would once again be littered with the kin of those that had been unfortunate enough to fall earlier. Nothing escaped time.

In a little while, he would scoop the pile into a wooden tub and dump it over the edge of the cobbled platform that overlooked the sloping green canopy. It was a daily battle that bore no casualties and instead helped perpetuate the cycle of life for the forest below. Sometimes he wondered if his contribution to this cycle ever meant anything, but then he would think of how, if the temple had never been built, the trees would have managed fine on their own.

But this was his place in the order of things now.

The temple stood halfway up a mountain, a high half-concave carved an age ago into the rock face, as if a giant hand had scooped some of the material off and then carelessly forgot to smooth it out. It was just deep enough to nestle the Stone of Names at its very back. There had been something else there before, but he had no idea of what it could have been, and the empty plinths that remained on either side offered no clues. The Stone stood in the shadow of the overhanging rock for most of the day except for a small window in the evening when the setting sun lit its entire surface a gentle orange in time for the second Litany, such that the words roughly carved onto its surface almost seemed to glow. In front of it was a brazier he lit some days to help dispel the cold and the dark.

Around the wide central clearing in front of the Stone were a handful of small structures, most of which now stood empty, but in years past likely lodged the temple’s earlier devotees. The man took one of these as his private space, and another housed cupboards for food, an oil press and a stove-and-oven. To one side of these buildings was a plot where turnips, mustard and yams grew in neat rows, and beyond, a small grove of olea and morinki trees.

Off in the distance lay the boundless sea.

Sometimes the man would lie in his cot at night and wonder about what lay beyond the mountains and the sea—and the stars overhead—and yet they were so unendingly vast that he knew it was impossible to know. The handful of weathered books that sat on his desk spoke only of plants and animals in the area in a dry, scientific language from a different time, likely the work of temple scholars long dead.

And thus he lived with the awareness that this occasional curiosity served no practical purpose. Sometimes he thought that it was all a very beautiful cage, but there was no mystery beyond the temple and its immediate surroundings tempting enough to make the man set forth in search for answers.

What clawed at the surface of his mind, instead—when he allowed it—was the life he had before he opened his eyes to this place weeks, months, years ago—or rather, the missing memory of it. Sometimes, phantom sensations would come to him: a humming, thrumming beneath his feet and inside his veins, the sterile smell of entombed air, a momentary swell of fear and rage that he could never explain but left his heart pounding. Everything inside him moving too fast, against gravity and with it and sideways of it. But for the most part, the void inside his head was just as vast and as boundless as the sea and the sky.

Whatever spare energy he had after his long, quiet days sweeping the leaves off the temple grounds, collecting fish from the traps in the stream that flowed a few minutes’ walk away, or chopping wood, or tending the small garden of vegetables—it was sometimes taken up by his efforts in pushing into that darkness. It had a weight of its own, he learned early on, such that the harder he pressed against it, the faster it drained him. In his better days, he recognized the futility of the exercise, and he reminded himself that it no longer mattered, anyway.

In this place, nothing mattered but the Names.

That, and the enigma that was his companion.

Any moment now, she would walk into sight from the path that led to the stream, as it was her turn today to check what the traps had caught. Whether or not her basket was full would determine the richness of their meal for the evening.

She had been his only anchor to the world in all his time here, and yet for all that they only had each other in this speck in the wilderness, she barely acknowledged his existence.

It hadn’t always been that way. He had vague images in his head of the very beginning, when he could barely open his eyes, or his mouth to eat or speak—those first days when knew nothing but the unrelenting pain that visited every dimension of his being. Her presence had been the only thing that made breathing tolerable as she spooned hot broth into his mouth and wiped him down with a cool cloth. There must have been more words then because he had the memory of a voice that alternated between soothing and pleading, even though he couldn’t remember the words themselves. He was certain, whenever he looked back on it, that he would have died if it hadn’t been for her care.

But as his body and mind grew stronger, so did her coldness. She distanced herself from him until she barely spoke except to instruct him on his daily duties. It was impossible not to notice that she refused to look at him when they did speak, or that she always tried to be wherever he wasn’t. Many times he wondered if she only saved his life to spare herself from complete isolation—poor companion as he apparently was, it seemed he was still better than the alternative. That at least gave him a bit of comfort.

He didn’t even know her name.

And she’d never spoken his, and so he didn’t know it, either.

_We don’t speak unless it’s necessary. We’ve left everything behind us,_ she’d said when he asked early on. _Our lives are to be spent remembering the dead. This is our devotion, our one reason._

She’d told him, in the same way one squeezed water out of a rock, that there had been a war, and that the Stone of Names was far from an exhaustive account of all that was lost. It would have been impossible to know all who had died, much less put their names down in writing. Instead, what was carved on the Stone was the names of the cities and worlds that had been destroyed, out there among the stars. And when one day he pressed too much, she’d hissed at him that the loss of his memory was a mercy he should be grateful for.

_Forget everything but the Names_.

Sometimes he thought of how strange it was that he was compelled to know these Names when he didn’t even know his own.

Who had he been before all this that she seemed to hate him so much? And what part had he played in this great war, that his body was riddled with scars, and the heft of a broom or a shovel in his hand sometimes made them feel like something else entirely? But it seemed easier to simply go along with it, and he knew that to question things would be to open himself up to truths he was likely not ready for. And so he mostly kept his mouth shut, just as she’d ordered.

One day long ago, it came to him that she was probably younger than him. She looked it, for one, and though there were no mirrors in the entire place, his reflection in the basin of water he had in his room showed him enough of his face, even though a sparse beard covered its lower half, to come to that conclusion. And yet their dynamic and the fact that he had to learn everything from her proved her the senior, and he deferred to her wishes without complaint. He had no choice but to trust her judgment.

One thing he was sure of: he was glad, deep in his soul, that she was with him.

He spent his days in mindful solitude, but for all her cold reticence, he couldn’t help but look forward to the morning and evening Litanies when they sat side by side in front of the Stone and read off the Names. In a sense, he was almost grateful that she wouldn’t meet his eyes so he could have his fill of looking at her. And what he saw pleased him almost as much as her mere presence—prickly as it was—soothed his spirit.

At night, his tired mind relived these moments with her, and sometimes the image of her mouth when it wasn’t set in a frown, or her pretty eyes when they looked far, far away, or the lines of her body as she moved lit a fire in him, and he would take himself in hand and regret only that she would despise him even more if she knew. But he figured that it was the one thing he could keep from her, and most days he harbored no hope that she would soften towards him, and he knew that just like the blackness inside his head, to press would only push her further away.

He would never tell her how much he yearned for her. Not if he wanted to stay in this orbit around her, distant as it was.

When she finally strode into view, he was once again reminded of this as his heart made the littlest leap of joy. She didn’t so much as pause to look at him but instead went straight in the direction of the kitchen, where she would leave her catch for preparation after the evening Litany. He knew at once from the set of her jaw and the way the basket in her hand bounced too lightly that her trip to the stream had not been very successful.

But still he asked, “Did you get any?”

Her response said so much more than the single word that it was. “One.”

One. One would be too little to share between them, and one meant that he would have to go without. One meant that she would be in a darker mood for having to accept the single fish because he would refuse it, and she couldn’t bear the waste.

He went into his hut and washed his face and hands and tidied his grey robe. There would be time enough later to dwell on the woman’s moods, but in the moment, the angle of the sun announced that it was time for the evening Litany. In this place, no clocks were necessary, and their daily activities were determined by how high the sun was in the sky, or how much the rain poured, or how thickly the frost sat on the leaves.

She was already sitting in front of the Stone when he came out of his hut, her hair tied back and her own grey robe a little neater than when she’d arrived from the stream. It was yet another thing that she’d been so strict about: the Litany was sacred and deserved them at their best. It helped that during these readings, their devotion overrode her ill feelings of him temporarily.

He sat next to her, and that was the only prompt she needed to begin. They read sections of the Stone in turns, each one ending with a little prayer, and although they’d been doing it for months and months, and although a lot of the words could now roll off his tongue without him having to make sure he was reading them right, the void in his mind sapped the ritual of any deep meaning for him. He understood the importance of remembering, and yet he knew none of the Names.

_Forget everything but the Names._

He floated in the cadence of her voice, and that was more than enough for now.

“All that was one before, broken in life, come together again in peace.”

As soon as the last word was spoken, she stood up and left. He watched her go, her strides purposeful. She went back into the kitchen to prepare her fish. The yams he’d roasted earlier, he’d taken out of the oven but left warming on top of it. He knew she loved them but not while they were still burning hot. He would get his own dinner after she went back to her hut with hers.

He turned around to look at the setting sun and the path of fire it lit over the sea. Sometimes he would trek an hour down the mountain and through the trees to come closer to the waves. He would let the water slap against his feet and wonder how often she came down there and what she thought of. He wondered about what and who she’d lost in the war. Or who he had. He wondered if anybody out there missed her. He wondered if anybody at all thought about him.

He mattered to no one, not even to the one person who likely knew he was still alive.

A cry and a clatter broke through his thoughts, and immediately he was on his feet and running to the kitchen. She was bent over the table cradling her hand, her face a grimace of pain. On the table lay the fish, and by her feet, the knife.

“Are you all right?”

No answer. It was unnecessary anyway as it was clear she wasn’t.

He stepped forward. “Let me see.”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he reached for her. Instantly, she recoiled.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, and in the face of that non-surprise it shouldn’t have stung—and yet it did. In its wake came a spike of unusual annoyance. Even now, when she was hurt, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

“Let me look at it.”

He reached out again, and this time he was firm when he took her hand in his. She resisted, but he was much bigger, much stronger, and it was enough to see the line of blood across her palm. She tried to tug her hand back.

“Let go of me. I don’t need your help.”

He began dragging her to the sink, and she resisted the entire way.

“I said let go! This is nothing—I’ve endured far worse. I’ve fallen off—”

She cut herself off, likely because she realized that she almost spoke of her past. He ignored her and turned on the tap that connected to the ancient plumbing system. The water that flowed over their hands was cold and, as he could see from how her hand blossomed open under it, soothing.

“Keep it under the water.”

It surprised him that she did as he asked. She stood unmoving as he walked over to a cupboard and riffled inside it for their precious supply of bacta patches. But as soon as she realized what he was doing, she was back in snapping form.

“Don’t bother. We aren’t wasting a patch on this little cut.”

He stared at her and gritted his teeth. Why did she have to be so obstinate?

“Would you say that if I was the one who sliced my hand open?”

Her breath escaped in a sharp exhalation. She could be irritated all she wanted, but he knew he had her there. She’d told him so long ago not to do anything stupid and risk injury, after all. What had gone unsaid was how far into the future her warning was supposed to extend. They were here for as long as they were here, and that was all there was to it.

He didn’t know which scared him more: being left completely alone or subjecting her to total isolation. No, he wouldn’t risk injury, and he’d be damned if he let her do the same.

With a smaller knife, he cut the patch down to size, and then he grabbed a clean rag from a basket and went back to where she stood. He turned off the tap and then took her hand again.

“Will you stop struggling? We’d be done with this so much faster if you just let me do it. Just… for one moment in your life, would you stop being angry?”

That set her off in earnest, and in a burst of emotion, she managed to surprise him with a hard smack on his shoulder with her free hand, enough that his grasp on her slackened and she was able to pull herself back. Her eyes flashed, and she looked about ready to spring at him and deal real physical damage, even as she cradled her injured hand.

“You don’t get to question how I feel. You don’t get to question me.” Her voice shook. “You have the luxury of forgetting and I don’t. So don’t you tell me how to… You know _nothing!_”

Her words cut, and there were no bacta patches for how she made him feel.

He’d had enough.

And so he slammed his own palm against the surface of the table, the resounding impact making the bowls and the cutting board—and her—jump.

“You want to throw your tantrum over this little thing—fine! I’m just trying to save both of us the trouble of me having to tend you if your cut gets infected—prophets fucking forbid I have to touch you again.” Another hard smack against the table. “Just shut the hell up for a minute and you can have your fit when I’m done!”

He hated that he’d lost control, hated that he had to resort to spitting words back just to get his point across. Her resulting silence seemed even more palpable after his own deafening roar.

He jerked her hand back—finally, she let him, even as she kept her face turned away. He told himself he could ignore the shaky rise and fall of her chest, or the trembling of her chin, or the way her eyes were blinking so fast—was she trying to hold back tears?

He gulped back the hard knot in his throat—to little effect. _Focus_. His hands gentled as he stretched hers open to take a better look in the light of the lamp she’d lit. The cut didn’t seem particularly deep, after all, although it still oozed blood. He pressed the cloth over it to dry it, and then engulfed the rest of her hand in the material as well.

Silence. A strained truce, at least for now.

His anger and his shame had drained away and left a strange clarity. He was so aware of how close she was and how still she’d gone. He chanced it and slid his gaze up to her face. If he wanted, he could count the light smattering of freckles across it, or the dark lashes that fanned from her downturned eyes. He had to force himself to look away.

The cloth came off stained with her blood, and he pressed the patch on and applied pressure. It was a minor miracle that she allowed the contact for so long, and as her hand grew warmer in his, so did his face. There were calluses on her skin—this hand that had saved his life and taught him everything he knew now. There was nothing soft about her—not in the way she went about her days, not in the way she treated him. And yet just now…

Before he could help himself, his thumb found its way across the base of her fingers on a gentle stroke.

She gasped, and her eyes flew to his. For an infinite moment their gazes held, and his heart thundered. He wanted to dive into those depths that for once weren’t hard glass that kept everything hidden. Bright hazel that burned and invited. He wanted so much to know her.

And then she broke free, and her walls were back in place. She stomped off without finishing making her dinner. But then she paused at the doorway, and he could only look on as she tried to control her breathing. With her back turned to his—cold and curt and distant once more—

“Thank you.”

And she disappeared from his sight again.

*******

It had been hours since he’d cooked the fish, hours since he’d eaten his yams and bitter greens, and still she didn’t come out of her hut. She was never one to skip meals, and the silence of her closed door unsettled him even more than usual. He couldn’t focus on the ancient book he had open before him, and the descriptions and illustrations of animals that usually fascinated him faded in and out in the low light of his lamp.

The night was cool, too, and when he peeked out of his door earlier, he hadn’t seen smoke coming out of her chimney. Was she lying in there without a fire? He knew a draft came in through the bottom of her door, and many times when the wind blew hard or when it rained, he’d plugged the space with rags from the outside. But the night was still, and the sky clear, and there was no reason to go out there.

Maybe he should just sleep, and maybe in the morning she’d be back to her usual self.

He put his robe back on and slipped his feet into his boots. And then he left his room.

Maybe she was asleep already after all. What was he even supposed to say? He looked up at the blue planet overhead, full tonight and so bright, as if it had answers for him. It only looked back, but at least it lit his path and in that small way made his short trek easier.

He stopped before her door and tried to collect his thoughts. But he was tired, and he was uncertain, and they tripped over themselves in his mind. And his racing heart wasn’t making things easier.

_Please eat your dinner. I made the fish the way you like it, and you don’t have to eat the greens if you don’t want to. _

_I’m sorry I shouted at you. _

_I’m sorry I caressed your hand. I couldn’t help myself. _

_I wish I knew why after all this time, you still hate me. I don’t remember who I was before, but I don’t think I’m the same person. _

_I wish you would just talk to me. No one would need to know. _

_I wish I could see you smiling. _

There was more than this door separating them, and he didn’t know why tonight, of all nights, the urge to break it all down was so strong. Maybe because for the first time, she’d let him come close. Not by much, and not for long, but her eyes had reached into his—he didn’t dream that up, he was sure. She was right there beyond this piece of wood, but she was so far away again, and he couldn’t stand it.

He dropped his forehead against the rough surface in despair.

And then he heard it: a muffled cry.

So she was crying again. She was always so careful, too, to keep her tears hidden from him. Once, he’d caught her by the stream, where the burbling water drowned her sniffles, and another time as she sat by the edge of the temple overlooking the forest in the middle of the night when she thought he’d been asleep. He’d left her alone in her grief both times, although her tears felt like acid on his soul. During the day, her face would be scrubbed of emotion except when she was hissing at him, and yet those two times her heartbreak shone so brightly through the cracks. How many times had she cried without him knowing?

_Forget everything but the Names._

And yet here was proof that she couldn’t. This devotion was breaking her spirit in a more calamitous way than any injury could break her body. And it angered him so much that she would keep it all inside when he was right here. When he could help. She’d saved his life, and here she was killing herself with her agony. He was right here, and yet she chose to suffer alone. He could still hear her ragged pulls of breath, and the rustling of cloth as she thrashed around.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He slammed her door open, and all at once, the light of the blue planet filled the doorway and showed him everything.

_Everything_, because she had not a stitch of clothing on, and her knees were raised, her toes curled, her nipples dark beacons in the dim light, and her hand between her legs.

Shock washed over him, and all at once he was frozen and burning, his blood and his nerves going haywire at the sight.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she shrieked in the next second, and then she rolled off her cot in a sudden swift motion.

She landed with a hard thud on the stone floor, and her grunt of pain snapped him out of it.

He strode in and shut the door behind him—it was a wonder he could move his legs at all—and bent over her. She was all long limbs and skin that seemed to glow in the lamp light as she lay on her side, and she moaned and began curling up.

“Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“Don’t—don’t—”

But he did. He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her to her back. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was pulling her breath through her teeth. Her arms curled over her chest, and she was clasping her hands tightly together. Even now she was pulling her knees to her chest, closing into herself—in pain? In shame?

_What had he done? _

He put his arms under her because the cold, hard floor was no place for her, and he lifted her to her bed. But his knees were buckling, and the shock of it all made his arms shake, and somehow he managed to trap one of them under her back as he put her down.

He could see and feel—she was right under him!—her chest rising and falling. And here was all that soft smoothness, after all, and trembling warmth, and his body was responding so fast and so completely to her closeness. Her scent lifted off of the tangle of sheets under her and drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much.

And then he realized she wasn’t pushing him away. Her hand, which had landed on his free arm in all the flurry—it suddenly clenched tight on his sleeve. Her breaths puffed against his face through her open mouth, and her lips looked sweeter than the berries she would sometimes find on her walks through the woods. Her chin trembled, and he could see her throat working. Dark hair spilled around her and framed the face he’d seen in his dreams so many nights.

And then she opened her eyes, and there was no mistaking what was in them.

Nor the single whispered word that escaped her—

_“Please.” _

He fell.

Her lips were the softest thing he’d ever felt, and they moved under his, pliant pillows that invited him closer. And so he did, and it was all he’d ever wanted, the taste of her ragged breaths and her little moans. And it was impossible to stop there when he was so desperate for more of her, and his tongue delved into the heat of her mouth. The sensation of her own tongue—that mobile, wet muscle—against his made him crush her in his arms.

She opened up under him—her mouth, her arms, her legs—and he sunk into all that welcome. She wrapped herself around him, and he knew this was where he belonged. Lightning bolts of sensation skittered across his skin and under it as her hands tangled in his hair. He kissed her as he’d longed to do for so long, as deep and hard as she allowed, and he burned with every hot pull, every wet stroke. And still she moved under him, presenting herself, and he wanted to taste the rest of her body, everything that she was now offering him. He’d been so starved for her, and he wanted to gorge.

She pulled on his clothes, and her little cry as he wrenched himself away to shake his robe and his boots off tore at him. He climbed back over her, and now they were skin to skin, and she was soft and smooth and warm. She was better than all his dreams, and he couldn’t help but rub himself against her surfaces, all of it a feast for his senses that until now she’d kept hidden from him. Her neck and shoulders made a pocket that begged for his kisses, and her sighs of pleasure filled him with hot joy. He had to let her know—

“You feel so good—so fucking sweet—”

Her ragged moan, he had to taste again, but after a quick, hard kiss, he made his way down because there was so much more of her. The precious point of her chin, that neck that had enticed him for so long, the plane of her chest that now seemed so delicate, the gentle swells of her breasts and the valley between them from which her scent rose and drugged him—it was all a canvas, and the marks he left would show clearer later. And when his beard brushed against one puffy peak, she shuddered, and her hands in his hair directed him to where she wanted him. Her nipple was the perfect shape as it begged for his attention, and when he pressed his mouth against it, she moaned.

“Don’t stop—please—”

He worried one sensitive nub with his lips and bathed it with his tongue. The other, his fingers teased, and when he pinched and pulled, she cried out and clamped her knees around his hips, the sound tugging at his cock. She was moving under him, pressing up and seeking, and his hardness, still under the constricting material of his pants, was desperate to burrow in the heat of her core. The way she undulated under him as he suckled on the sweet pucker of her nipple robbed him of his senses. 

“I ache for you.”

Her broken cry told him that maybe—maybe he hadn’t been alone in his want after all. He lifted himself off because he suddenly needed to see her face again, see if her words were real. She cupped his jaw in her hand, the patch from earlier catching on his beard, and when he looked into her eyes, he knew them to be true, and the relief made his own sting. She pulled him close again, and her kisses were a benediction.

He ran his hands over the sleek expanse of her back, and they naturally found their way down to her buttocks. He sunk his fingers into them, and he wondered at how she was so soft and firm all at once. It was the perfect handhold for when he ground his hips against her, and he kept at the motion as her legs fell open even more and she found the angle she liked best. Her face was a mask of concentration as she tried to climb her peak.

But it wasn’t enough, though he didn’t know how he knew, and she moaned her complaint when he stopped.

“Shh—shh—I only want to please you.”

He caressed her cheek as he stroked her lips with his tongue, and then the same hand brushed its way down her chest, tweaking her nipple along the way, across her taut stomach where her muscles jumped, and then his fingers were exactly where he wanted them, past her curls and tracing the swollen line of her aching flesh. Her shuddering gasp told him it was exactly what she wanted, too, but he decided to draw out her pleasure, and up and down her damp slit his fingers went, never pushing in hard enough, and in the process everything only got wetter.

The thought of sinking his cock into all this softness was driving him crazy, but he was a patient man, and he knew that if he did that, this would all be over too soon.

She was begging him with her eyes, her kisses and her words, and when he finally pushed a thick finger inside, she was so tight. She gasped at the intrusion and stiffened under him, her hands a sudden vice around his wrist, and he wondered—

“Have you done this before?”

Her eyes shot open, and she shook her head vehemently. She was still breathing hard even though his hand wasn’t moving, her wet muscles squeezing his finger. A hard tremor ran through her thighs and made her knees shake.

She was a virgin. _Prophets._

It was suddenly so much more important that he did this right, and it crossed his mind that he seemed to have a better idea than her about what to do, even though his past experiences were lost in the void inside his head.

He was now the teacher, and she the inexperienced student.

The rush of power at that realization was not one of superiority, but instead he felt a sense of gratitude that it had fallen to him to instruct her on the pleasures of the flesh. He watched her face as he began working his finger in and out of her channel, a slow, patient glide that warmed her up from the inside. She had always been beautiful, but now, with her eyes half-closed and her breaths puffing from her kiss-stung mouth, she was absolutely devastating. His thumb did its part and stroked the bundle of nerves above her opening, and his ministrations loosened her up so her hands left his wrist and wound their way around his shoulders, and her knees fell wide again.

“Does this feel good?”

_“Yes.”_ Her voice was breathy and landed so gently on his soul.

“Tell me if anything I do hurts.”

Her eyes were widened for a second with worry, but she nodded.

“Kiss me again. Please.”

He melted at her entreaty and did as she asked, his nibbling bites soothed shortly by his tongue, all to divert her focus a little for what he did next. He pushed a second finger into her—he needed to ready her for the thicker intrusion of his cock. So, so wet, and it killed him how she squeezed from inside. He listened to her mounting pleasure in the hitching sighs that escaped her, and felt it in how she dug her fingers into his skin—so sweetly responsive. And then he remembered that he could taste it, too, and so he kissed his way down her body, his fingers never leaving her, and planted her feet on the bed. His tongue dipped into her belly button and she gasped, and when he traced a wet path from there to the edge of her curls, she propped herself up on her elbows and squawked.

“What are you doing?”

“Pleasing you.”

And then he swiped his tongue from the base of his buried fingers all the way up her swollen clitoris. She wailed and threw her head back. Her smell and her taste flooded his senses, and he had to close his eyes to savor it all the better.

His lips pulled on her flesh, and her feet pushed against the bed so she could lift herself up closer to him. One of her hands pressed against his head as his tongue fluttered over her, and the other muffled her cries. Gently, gently for this untried girl who drove him mad, he stroked her with his tongue, and the way she strained for more was a delicious contrast to how much patience he was exerting. She rewarded him generously with her moans.

He pumped his fingers into her faster because it was clear she had nowhere to go but up and over the edge. Push and pull, with just enough of a curl at the end to hit her where she needed it most—the sounds his fingers made as he churned her slickness was a mad beat her hips danced to. And when he suckled her clitoris in worship—

“Please—I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

She came with a wail, her entire body stiffening and shuddering all at once, and a wet pulse bathed his fingers and his lips. It was a revelation, how she fell apart under him, those long seconds of visible, palpable ecstasy. That she allowed him to do this for her—it shook him to his core. He pulled his fingers out and gave her a last lingering lick. She was still shaking when his mouth found its way back to hers. There was little strength in her arms as she wrapped them around him.

She was so beautifully spent that he was hesitant to press his still-aching body against her, but she tangled her legs around his waist and whispered against his ear.

“I need all of you.”

The sated timbre of her voice belied the urgency of her words, but her hand slipped down and brushed against his hardness, and it was all the permission he needed. She helped him push his pants off, and her hand was awkward as it wrapped around him, but he loved how she felt, how she cared.

His cock was the hardest it had ever been, and it almost hurt, how eager he was for her, but he couldn’t help worrying if even after all that she could take him. He kissed her and whispered apologies against her lips in advance, and then he guided himself into her waiting heat. He melted at finally coming into contact with her the way he needed most.

He’d wanted her for so long.

She was so slick and so swollen, but still so impossibly tight as he penetrated her. It felt as if his head was in the same vice, and his face burned at the effort of holding his own pleasure at bay. Inch by slow inch, he pushed himself in, his breath sawing against her neck, every muscle in his body taut, and she gasped along with him until he was buried to the hilt.

He could feel her uncertainty, her discomfort, and it pained him so much more than the monstrous effort of holding back.

“Is this okay?”

“There’s… there’s so much of you…”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. Let me make you feel good.”

But she already did. Being inside her was heaven and hell, her flesh a hot, unmistakable welcome, her tightness holding him to her instead of keeping him out. He began moving against her, slow and measured at first, but every little movement of her body plucked at his pleasure and made him crave a harder, deeper contact. He could see in his mind, with every roll of his hips, just how he sunk into her waiting pink flesh, a wet embrace he never wanted to leave, and the image—oh, the image—

As he picked up his pace, his entire being was taken over by a primitive need to claim and be claimed, and he knew that he was getting rougher, but he couldn’t stop his hips from pounding into her. She felt so good, and her gasping little cries only egged him on, and there was nothing but the give of her neck against his teeth, the pull of her hot flesh around his cock, the slick of moisture on his fingers as he rubbed to take her with him again, and he was mindless in his need—he wasn’t going to last—

And then she was screaming, and she was pulsating all around him, and with a few more desperate strokes he was pouring his seed into her milking heat. He lost control, and his entire body shuddered and jerked.

“Ben—” she gasped against his ear, and it seemed her body was just as out of control.

He’d died, he was sure.

They fell limp and quiet, and for a few moments he felt so lightheaded he thought he could faint. He didn’t want to move, but he was too heavy on top of her, and so with what little strength he had left, he rolled over—and the feeling of his spent cock pulling out of her made him groan, _prophets_—and he would have fallen off her cot if he hadn’t caught himself. She shimmied backwards to make more room for him, and they lay in a tangle of tired limbs as they tried to catch their breaths. She slung one leg over him as they lay chest to chest.

Pure bliss… and he was in a disbelieving daze. Gone was the sullen, uptight woman that he’d desired from a distance, and here was his dream made real, softer and warmer than he could have ever imagined, wrapped around him as he’d always wanted. She was kissing him, and each one was a caress that reached deep—and what was that he was tasting in it, more than her lips? She was the most important thing in his life, and she’d finally allowed him in. The rush of emotions made his eyes water.

And so he told her—

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.”

Her throat worked, and her beautiful eyes shone up at him in the dim light, but in the end, she said nothing and instead pressed her face over his heart.

She was his devotion. And even if it was just for tonight, she was his.

*******


	2. Chapter 2

*******

Cold.

The man opened his eyes to too much of it, and to complete disorientation. As his world settled into wakefulness, he realized the first was due to his nakedness, the blanket having slipped off and leaving his back exposed, and the second—

Although only slivers of sunlight poked into the room through gaps between and around the closed window, there was still entirely too much of it for the time of day. Unless… unless the sun was higher in the sky than it should be.

He was not in his own cot. This was not his room.

And he was alone. Again.

It was hours after dawn, too long from the time he should have been up for the morning Litany. He jumped off the cot, the runaway beat of his heart pushing blood through veins made unyielding by sleep. Everything shook, his hands the worst of it, as he plucked his clothes off the floor and slipped them back on. The fire he’d lit last night was now nothing more than ash.

_Where had she gone?_

He opened the door and stepped outside, where the sun confirmed that the time for the first Litany had come and passed, and shone its light on the fact that even here, there was no sign of her. Not by the Stone. Not by the overlook. Not by the vegetable plot, or even the grove. Had she prayed by herself? Why didn’t she wake him up?

No smoke came out of the kitchen, either. And it was empty when he looked in, and the kettle with which she boiled water for tea hung by its hook above the cold stove. The fish and roasted yams were exactly as he’d left them the evening before.

She must have left for the stream, or maybe even the beach. Or wherever else. Any place but here. Any place where he wasn’t.

So this was how it was going to be.

Last night… last night had been a revelation. Everything he’d known had been turned on its head. The woman had welcomed him in her arms, and under him, the veneer of frost he’d become so familiar with had melted away completely. She was heat he hadn’t known since the beginning of memory. Her voice, her kisses, her touch had all burned a fire in him until he was aglow.

No, she hadn’t just welcomed him. She’d kept him close all night, her arms and legs a supple vice he never wanted to be free of, and the way she’d begged with words for him to please her, and to ask if she pleased _him_—_so many words_, in a symphony of breath and tone, and not all of them coherent but spoke so perfectly of her need all the same. She’d taken him into her body again, wearing away at his hesitation with her lips and her hands and her eyes, gritting her teeth through the discomfort of her tender muscles as she worked his aching flesh from above, as if the world would end with the night and it was her last chance to know him.

Maybe it was.

_No._

Likely she just left to sort her thoughts out. Likely this was too big a change for her to accept right away. Likely she needed time and space alone to process her feelings. Yes, that must be it.

He refused to think it could be anything else.

He went back into her hut and took a last look at the evidence of their union, buried his face for a long moment in the tangled linens and filled his lungs with her scent, and then straightened her cot. Anything to make this easier for her. When she returned, he would keep their conversation light.

_Conversation_. Just the chance to know her thoughts, to hear her speak instead of snap… the very thought of it made his spine tingle and his face warm with anticipation. It would be awkward at first as he wouldn’t know what to say, and he suspected it would be even worse for her. But there was no way they were going back to what they were before.

No way at all.

He found himself in front of the Stone saying a quick prayer of apology to the Names that meant absolutely nothing to him, and then he went about his day.

And as he swept the grounds, gathered morinki leaves and pods and olea fruit, and then pressed some oil—it should have been her turn to do this today, but it couldn’t be helped—he did his best to ignore the ache in his chest and the hot, sour ball in his belly.

*******

But even all that activity couldn’t make the sun go faster on its way across the sky. He was used to being alone, but now he couldn’t help pausing every now and then to listen for footfalls or to look at the path to the stream that stayed empty. When he ate the food from last night, it only made his stomach turn even more.

When the Stone glowed orange with the late afternoon light and she still hadn’t shown up, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

She had closed herself off.

Last night had not been a lie. Last night had been the most truthful she’d been with him, with herself. Last night had showed him that she didn’t hate him, after all, and that she had, in fact, been as desperate for him as he’d been for her. And it was _him_, he was sure, because he’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in how she’d caressed his face, held him close. That wasn’t her just giving in to her loneliness and having the only other person around help her through it. She’d wanted _him_.

And this… this renewed avoidance only made him certain that she’d cared all the way from before all this, but that she couldn’t bear that she did. He just wished he knew why.

Why were they here, alone in this abandoned temple? Who had they been to each other before? And what was it that he had done to make her the way she was with him now? That last night’s spark only made her withdraw even further from him, so much so that she didn’t even eat and was now staying away for the Litany, the one thing she’d said mattered here?

And then it came to him: what if it was worse than that? What if, in the time he’d steeped in his denial that masked itself as consideration for her need for space, she’d gone out there and hurt herself, after all? What if she was lying among the trees, in pain? Or, prophets forbid, in the water—

He ran. His feet pounded as hard as his heart, his mind that had known nothing but peace now filled with terrible visions of her—lost, injured, unconscious in the darkening woods…

He wanted to call out, but he didn’t even have a name for her.

“Where are you?”

Not in the stream. He couldn’t see her basket or her wooden staff by the banks, either. The water came up to his chest at its deepest, he knew, but she could have slipped and hit her head on a rock. And it was usually so clear, but the dimming sky made everything that moved under its surface a terrifying shapeless shadow. He ran downstream. Nothing.

“Where are you?” he cried out again, but only an offended bird or two answered back.

He followed the water to where he knew it fell over the edge, and in a small pocket between low shrubs, he found her, sitting with her arms around her knees, looking off into the sea.

He knew she’d heard him. It was impossible that she hadn’t, with how he’d been yelling in his desperation.

Terror and relief warred inside him and made his anger finally boil over.

“Why wouldn’t you answer? Do you know how worried I’ve been?” he roared.

But when he looked at her face more closely and saw how her chin trembled and how her eyes shone with tears, his emotions settled into despair. He could only stare at her as he caught his breath.

There was no sign of any injury to her body, but everything in her countenance spoke of her battered spirit.

He gulped and gentled his voice. “You didn’t even eat. Last—last night, and even this morning. I had to eat the fish before it spoiled.”

Still nothing but that empty, faraway look.

And so he said, “You didn’t have to stay away.”

Too many seconds passed, and he thought she wasn’t going to say anything to that, either, but then—

“I did.” A sniffle as her face crumpled. And in a voice as small as she was making her body, “I was doing so well, too.”

He couldn’t bear it. He dropped into a slouch next to her. And still she wouldn’t look at him.

“Why do you keep me at a distance?”

She only shook her head.

He went on, “Last night… you let me in last night. Not just to your room. Not just… not just into your body—”

Her eyes flew to his and flashed with emotion.

“It was a mistake!” she hissed. And oh, how it cut deep.

He put his hand on her face, and when she swatted it away, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. Her struggle was half-hearted, and she settled against him, trembling. He pressed his face against her temple. Maybe he could get to her, after all.

“How can this be a mistake? You know how I feel for you… and I know now that I’m not alone in it. Your body… your eyes betray you.” He pulled back so he could look at her face. “Why would you deny what’s so obviously real? Why do you choose to lie? It’s only you and me here, and you don’t need to hide yourself from me.”

She jumped to her feet.

“This… this isn’t what we’re here for.” She wiped at her tears with her sleeve—and with it, too, every sign of her hurt. Her eyes had gone cold again. As did her voice. “You know nothing.”

She bent down to get her staff and the empty basket. And then she walked away.

She was leaving him again.

“Then tell me! Tell me why you—”

Before he could finish his sentence, she was running, and almost at once, the trees swallowed her up.

He watched as the sun dipped below the horizon.

He did not know how he was going to live the rest of his days, now that he knew what it could have been like. In this place that was a paradise—almost as beautiful and mysterious as she was—there was nothing but the long stretch of emptiness to look forward to. Nothing behind him, and nothing ahead. She had gone through the trouble of saving his life, but how this was an improvement over death, he would never understand. There was nothing he understood.

And nothing else to do but go back.

He made his way to the temple. It didn’t matter where she was. She was devoted to her purpose, and equally devoted in keeping the truth to herself. That seemed to be enough for her to live on. It had never mattered that he cared.

_Forget everything but the Names. _

He stood in front of the Stone, the Names now almost lost to the dark.

He lit the brazier, sat down and spoke the Litany.

_Forget everything but the Names. _

His heart was now as cold as the Stone, and there was no one, not even him, to say a prayer for it.

*******

_Ben. _

_Ben. _

_Beeeeeeen!_

The nightmare voice screamed and pushed the man into wakefulness, and even here it echoed inside his head. At once he sat up, feeling as if he’d fallen off an impossible height, and the chilled air and low firelight and the sound of his gasps were the surface against which his consciousness crashed. His chest felt like it was about to burst, and his head—his head—

It hurt so much—the same pain that was the first thing he’d ever known, and it made everything inside him squeeze and turn. Bile rose up his throat.

The name—it was a _name_, he was sure, and it had hammered its way out of memory through the thick void in that voice that he almost knew, and in the process cleaved his skull in two—or so it felt.

_She would know. _

It was still dark, and he barely managed to pull his boots on, and then he was stumbling outside where the air cut like knives against skin wet with perspiration. He had to pause for a moment to heave the contents of his stomach up and out—what little of it there was—but even that acid was nothing to the pounding pain. It wasn’t just his head—it reached far, far deeper—

Her door slammed open once again, but unlike last night, she’d been asleep and was fully covered, and there was nothing good waiting for him in here this time—not even those eyes that were now wide with a worry that shouldn’t be there—not after today—not her arms that opened up on instinct for him as she jumped out of her cot, nor the words that poured from her mouth—

“What’s wrong? _What’s wrong?_”

Everything was wrong.

He clutched his head and fought another wave of bile and acid.

“Who… who is Ben?”

She froze because of course she _knew_. She knew, and still she wouldn’t say anything, just stood there with her hand over her mouth, shaking her head at him, her eyes full of fear.

It was hard to even breathe, but he needed to know—

“Tell me! Tell me who that name belongs to!”

He hit his head against the door, but still it wouldn’t stop.

“B-Ben… Ben is someone who’s long gone.”

It wasn’t enough. Everything hinged on this answer, and her words weren’t enough of one.

He staggered toward her, his hands landing heavily on her shoulders. This woman who knew everything, who could free him of this pain—

He shook her. As hard as everything in him was shaking. The darkness in his mind was leaking, expanding—swallowing him up.

“Why does it hurt so much?” The words were barely breath. “Why didn’t you just… just let me die?”

“No… _no!_”

He could barely see now, barely stand. She grabbed his face, the warmth of her hands seeping into his skin. But there was something in there that was more than heat, more than the pressure of calloused fingers against the scruff of his beard—something that sparked and jumped between them—

A gasp that wasn’t his, her hands leaving his face as though she’d been burned—

And all at once everything shattered.

A million faces, a million sensations, each one a flash of light that stabbed through the breaking void. An ocean of anger and hopelessness that caught everything in its currents and pulled them to the bottom. His being was dragged backwards through it all, each inch through the nightmare an eternity of hell that scraped him raw, until he didn’t know up from down, until he didn’t know himself, until time and space lost all meaning—

Until everything fixed to a point, a memory that resolved into clarity.

*******

_The time had come to fulfill his destiny. _

He stood in front of a throne, on a fortress that floated high above the sea. Tall energy windows held the winds back, and the sky outside was an oppressive blue-grey, only a few shades brighter than the domed room. Every now and then, streaks of lightning brightened everything. He could hear nothing of the battle that was raging outside.

Red light retracted in a hiss by his side, and then the thud of a body hitting the floor became the toll that announced the death of the man who had craved power even more than he did. If only there had been more ears to hear it. It had given him real satisfaction to kill him—and certainly had been far easier than dealing with his own knights—and this he allowed to bleed through the iron control he held over his emotions.

He could not afford a mistake now.

His past experience hadn’t been completely useless, after all. Back then, the constant pain became his discipline, and it had even allowed him, in the end, to destroy his old abuser.

He faced the throne. “Everything that I command is yours now.”

“Mm. It’s a shame about the general. But I suppose he’d made one too many mistakes. I had hoped to acquire an army that wasn’t quite so… diminished.”

Any other time, it would have been an actual threat, but the displeasure in the ancient voice didn’t matter so much now, he knew.

There was no stopping two strong forces that joined against a third, diminished or otherwise.

The being that sat on the throne, too corrupted to be truly called alive and yet still managing to defy death in a borrowed body that was itself failing—it terrified him like nothing else had. It would be so easy for it to consume him if he showed any sign of weakness, and it took everything in him to stay calm.

But he would have to give more than everything to be able to survive the next few moments.

Because his weakness had come.

Just in time to see him kick the corpse off his feet.

“Ah, here is our guest of honor. I was worried you’d gotten lost on your way. I suppose there’s no sense in waiting any further. A new beginning is upon us.”

She shone. In her white garb. And with the Light inside her that no eyes could see but shook him every time he came too close.

“The only thing upon you is your death,” she growled at the throne. Even her weapon blazed.

A cackle of laughter. “Naïve till the end. It has always been the flaw of your kind, to count on hope when you have nothing else. I admit that I’ve underestimated it in the past and suffered greatly for it. As you can see.” The being huffed again. “But it can only bring you so far against true power.”

He could feel her probing, but he kept himself closed off to her. He saw the confusion on her face.

But still, she forged on. “He destroyed his old master, and soon he’ll destroy you, too. _We_ will destroy you.”

It only made the being crow again. “Listen to yourself. You are no child of the Light, no matter how much you steep yourself in its learnings. Your power comes from your rage, and there is entirely too much of it in you. Let me demonstrate.”

An image resolved in front of the throne, brought to life by pins of light from above and below. It was her friend, the Traitor who had found a new name, who was now writhing and screaming in agony on the floor of whichever hall he was in. Dark blood seeped from the stub that remained of his leg. Around him lay the bodies of both their allies and soldiers in white alike. If this image was current, the Traitor would die very soon.

“If you didn’t get to say goodbye, do not worry too much. Soon you will join him.”

“No! You lie!”

The being was right: rage poured out of her. Her tears were instant.

The image disappeared.

“If only your anger came from a more just place. But like most of the dead zealots of your failed religion, you are a hypocrite. You only feel this way because something of yours has been taken away from you.”

The tendrils of energy that emanated from her pounded against his defenses, desperate to connect. He could not break.

She ran to the throne, a wild cry upon her lips. He knew she knew this was not going to work, and still she let her emotions control her.

_Control. _

He pushed at her with the power of his mind, a sudden burst of energy. It took her completely by surprise, and she stumbled and rolled on the floor a few times, her weapon going out even as she managed to hold on to it.

His saber hissed to life again, and he tugged at hers. She regained her senses and managed to resist with her own power.

He looked at those eyes that knew him. He didn’t need to open himself up to her to know just what she was feeling because the stricken look in them said it all.

“You asked… you asked me to come. To end this. To help you.”

“I did. And here you are, doing just that.”

He was breaking her. As expected. He was her weakness as well, after all.

“Don’t do this. We can finish him together. Please.”

The being on the throne taunted her. “Perhaps you would have been more convincing had you joined him when he asked you. But you’ve lost your chance, and he doesn’t need you or your power anymore… not when he’s found something greater. It was by my order that he asked you to be here. And because your heart bleeds too much for him, it was only too easy.”

She could do nothing now but shake her head, as if that alone could dispel the reality of her situation.

There was that laugh again. “If you think this is to be a repeat of the past, I am sorry to have to disappoint you, young one. I have not tried to control him like his old master did. He was the one who sought me out. And if you’re still wondering why you’re here… well, it would be much better to just show you, wouldn’t it?”

The being waved his hand at him, not in command, but as if to say, _As you will_.

He ran to her, his saber ready to strike her down, and it was only with the instincts her power lent her that she was able to parry.

For once, he was the one to strike first.

She lost herself in her anger.

_Good. _

This was the most powerful he’d ever seen her. Maybe the being was right about her rage. He knew what she’d felt for him, and now he’d killed it with his betrayal. This was its vengeful ghost, and her every blow held the weight of her hatred. But her emotions also made her sloppy.

There was far more at stake, and he was not to be swayed from his goal by her angry tears.

He was not going to be bested this time.

His saber touched her leg, and with a cry of pain, she staggered back.

A chance to catch his breath.

In the silence, the being spoke to her, “You see, his old master tried to bend him to his will, tried to dig too deep into his spirit, and it was inevitable that a long-oppressed apprentice would one day try for his life. It was lucky for your friend that he was the one who survived that day. But I stand—well, _sit_ here today not to be anyone’s master, but to become, well, _one_ in power.

“I know that you are his weakness. You are here today because _we_ cannot afford that liability. As you can see, I have managed to cheat death—at great cost, true—but I can do so again, and this time, I am far more prepared. Neither of you pose a threat to me. I could destroy either of you right now, if I so wish it, from where I sit.”

And it was the truth.

“But he and I… we can offer each other so much, and he knows it. If he fails to destroy you and dies himself, _I would take you instead_. It would be less ideal, sharing a body with someone that clings so persistently to the Light, but ultimately, you will be no match for me, and I will consume you completely in the end.”

He looked on as horror overtook her features. Her eyes flew between him and the throne.

“You—you would—that’s impossible—”

“There is little in him now that wants to hold on to who he is—thanks to his family that turned their backs on him, and you who rejected him. He is now so single-minded in his goal to rule the galaxy that he is willing to give up, well, _so much of himself_. A forging of spirits… it is yet unheard of, but there is little risk to me.” There was regret in the voice when it continued. “You are both so powerful in the Force, but alas, I can only use one of you. If only I had more time to study it… but we must make do with what we have. So you see, you can keep fighting him, but the end result will be the same: the galaxy will be mine—and his, I suppose—to rule.”

“No! I will destroy both of you before I allow that to happen!”

She had always been so brave.

And so their sabers clashed again. Too many times, she came too close. But he had to stay as whole and as strong as he could for what was to happen next.

_Control. _

“I trusted you! I trusted you with everything!” Her cries hit just as hard as her blows, but he had no choice but to resist it all. Another swing at her, another spurt of blood, this time a shallow cut on her arm that had her dropping her weapon at last. It flew to his other hand, and now she was on her knees, bloodied and completely defenseless.

There was threat in that ancient voice, after all, now that they’d come this far. “Do not disappoint me like your grandfather did.”

This powerful being needed a new body desperately, despite its words earlier. One strong in the Force, unlike the one it occupied now. And there was none stronger than him that lived.

“I am not my grandfather.”

But his hand shook as he held both weapons over her, their light almost merging until they were no longer two colors, but a brilliant purple that illuminated the despair on her face. Even now, she was attempting to bridge their connection. It hurt, as it always did, to keep it closed against her.

This face that stared back at him. That had haunted his dreams for the last year—and for longer before that. Before he even knew her. This spirit that pressed against him now. Called him to the Light.

_Control._

“Lend me your strength,” he cried out. “You’re right… she is my weakness. Now is the time. Before I break. Before I change my mind.”

In her last moment, she slipped back into the only thing she had left.

“It isn’t too late, Ben. Your mother… your mother is waiting for you. _Please._”

It shook him. But it only hardened his resolve.

“I am Kylo Ren, and it is far too late for me. Do it!” he screamed.

“As you wish.”

A final cackle.

“No! _Ben, no!_”

He sensed the pure malevolence of the Dark spirit as it broke free from its borrowed vessel—now broken—and pure terror engulfed him.

There was no time.

_Control._

At the last second, he did two things: he threw both sabers, and they sliced through the air and hit the sides of an energy window. As the field dissipated, wind rushed into the great room, a terrible howl that could have come from the spirit, had it the physical capability to cry out.

And then he brought his defenses down and blew their connection open. Their bond flared to life, and she rushed into him.

This was where he belonged, and in here, he let go of the lie he’d had to maintain for too long.

He broke into a run, even as he spoke to her without words.

**_“No time—no time—”_** He felt her total confusion. **_“We must tear him apart together. We will not fail.”_**

But there was no certainty of success. He held on to nothing more than hope. This plan that he’d formulated and kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind for months, ever since he’d first felt the stirrings of a Darkness so powerful—it was a gamble, and he was risking everything. The entire galaxy.

** _“Hold on to me—hold on to me, Rey. We will destroy him. You must hold on to me—” _ **

But he was the son of a gambler, and his mother was a general that had powered her army with hope.

She finally understood.

They were one, after all.

The spirit hesitated between them, foiled in the last second, crackling in a rage it could not express otherwise. But it didn’t matter, if this gamble paid off—

** _“Ben!” _ **

It came after him, after all, and it was almost upon him, and he ran with everything he had, his power propelling him forward—

** _“Ben!” _ **

And just as he jumped off the edge, the spirit latched onto him.

** _“Hold on to me!”_ **

There was blinding pain like he’d never felt before, not in the hands of his old master, not when he killed his father, not when he destroyed his uncle’s temple. He was losing himself—this wasn’t going to work, it hurt too much—

But then he felt her reach for him. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, but still he could see her, so clear in his mind. She was at once with him through their bond and getting farther and farther as his body fell, and he could feel her, even through the pain, holding on as he’d begged, holding on not just to him but to the Dark spirit that forced its way into his body—and into hers, now, through their connection—and she was in agony, as much as he was in, and they both burned in its resonance within their bond—

But still she held on, as strong as he’d ever wanted, as strong as he’d ever needed—and the spirit struggled but couldn’t break free now that it had nowhere else to latch onto—she was praying to the Force, and he begged right alongside her for it to lend them the strength to finish this—

And he knew, so close to the end, that they’d succeeded.

The spirit rent itself into two, and one so desperate to stay whole finally shattered into nothingness.

He was free.

He’d fulfilled the destiny that he’d decided for himself.

He felt her relief. And her terror for what was coming.

There was only one last thing, in this place where he belonged, in this place where he was one with her, in this place where he didn’t have to hide the truth anymore.

** _“I love you. I love you, Rey.”_ **

** _“Beeeeeeen!”_ **

Pain unlike what he’d just lived through, but in every muscle, every bone of his body as it hit the water.

And then there was nothing.

*******

He came back to himself, to the present, to his quiet forest, gasping for the breath he’d lost when he’d drowned. He was on his hands and knees, drenched not with sea water but his own sweat. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but he felt like he just lived through it all again.

The darkness in his mind had lifted. 

Here, at last, was the truth.

The Force crackled in his fingertips, over his scalp, through his veins. Everything hurt.

He staggered to his feet and out again into the night. Found her by the Stone of Names. She was leaning against it, breathing hard, and as soon as their eyes met, she knew that he was back.

And a name, the first one that truly mattered in the eternity he’d been here, finally crossed his lips.

_“Rey.”_

*******


End file.
